Memory
by Hyperactive Hamster Of Doom
Summary: This is the story of a young girl once known as Miriam. This is the story of how she became Memory...
1. A Warning

**Memory**

**By The Hyperactive Hamster Of Doom**

Summary: This is the story of a young girl once known as Miriam. This is the story of how she became Memory…

Rating: PG-13          Category: Action/Adventure/Sci-Fi

Disclaimer: Now do you REALLY think I own The Matrix? Come on, you'd have to be some kind of idiot to believe that I, a teenage fanfic writer, could ever come up with something as cool and as profitable as that. I do, however, have _just_ enough imagination to base a story on the film, and to think up some characters of my own: Memory, Alethia, Horus, Mac, Mode, Telex, Font, Ebisu, Mab, Somnus, Forseti, Trojan, Firewall, Meg and Gig, Bug, Marty/Digit, Click, Monitor, Host, and Hecate are all mine. So are all the chatroom people. As far as I know they aren't based on real people. I also own the hovercraft Columbus, and I'm pretty sure I own Agents Black, Wilson and Gray (please let me know if I don't). In addition, I've taken the liberty of giving the Oracle and her assistant "real" names – if you don't like it, then you can kiss my ASCII.*

*This stands for "American Standard Code [for] Information Interchange". It's a computer thing, and I thought this might make people laugh. I was probably mistaken. Never mind.

Warning: Not much to warn about really. Maybe a bit of swearing and violence, but nothing worse than what you'll see in the film. Enjoy.

**Memory**

**By The Hyperactive Hamster Of Doom**

1: A Warning

Miriam Moorgate was not having a good day. At school they'd been asked to do a book report on a reference book; Miriam had chosen Advanced Electronics Made Easy, and her report had been given an F because her half-senile, technologically challenged English teacher hadn't understood what she was talking about. And if that wasn't bad enough, some of the other tenth-graders had shoved her head down the toilet for being a smart-alec. 

   Dripping water, she headed home.

   "Jerks," she muttered to herself, as she wrung the water out of her long black hair. "They're just scared of what they don't understand. If they knew what I knew, they'd be ruling the world! _They_ don't know about the Matrix!"

   Admittedly, she didn't know much about the Matrix either. She'd heard a few rumours about it, mostly from her friend Marty, who was obsessed with computers - apparently the Matrix was some kind of giant computer program. Other than that, she had no idea what it was.

   Miriam had never really been interested in computers. She'd never understood them, and had had no real use for them except for homework or the occasional game – but that was before she met Marty.

   Marty was… well, he was a computer nerd. There was no other way to describe him. He was the living, breathing image of every computer nerd stereotype in the universe; a pale, skinny, dark-haired kid with milk-bottle-bottom glasses and braces on his teeth. His favourite subjects were maths, science and information technology, which he excelled at, and he spent nearly all his free time working on his computer. He knew everything about computers, hardware and software, and could even write his own programs. He was a genius - although, like many geniuses, he couldn't cook, didn't know how to operate a washing machine, and sometimes had trouble tying his own shoelaces. But as far as computers were concerned, Marty was to technology what Mozart and Beethoven were to music.

   After several incomprehensible conversations with Marty, Miriam had decided one day that she'd had enough of smiling and nodding and trying desperately to change the subject before he noticed that she knew nothing about computers, and that she was going to find out what on earth he was talking about. 

   So she had started reading her way through computer books, learning about DOS and RAM and hard drives. Later, when she knew more, she immersed herself in more complicated books, and asked Marty endless questions. 

   When she finally got to the point of being able to not only understand Marty but to make comments, agree or disagree with what he was saying and give reasons for her opinions, Miriam suddenly realised that she was actually quite interested in computers after all.

   Computers were fascinating things. Those plastic cases full of wires and circuits and switches and tiny microchips held endless possibilities. And to think that some people only used these remarkable, complex machines to play games…

   Miriam was currently on her own computer, sifting through her e-mail.

   "Junk, junk… oh, one from Marty," she said to herself, and opened it.

   It read:

_Miriam you HAVE to come over and see this RIGHT NOW it's INCREDIBLE!!_

_Marty =8-()_

It had been sent to her ten minutes ago. She quickly typed a reply:

_OK Marty I'll be right over._

_Miriam =:-)_

   "Mom, I'm going over to Marty's," called Miriam, sending the e-mail and turning off her computer.

   "Whatever," her mother called from the next room. "Just come back sometime before midnight. But I guess it doesn't really matter what time you get in anyway, because you'll spend all night doing whatever you're doing on that computer of yours. So you might as well come back whenever you want. As long as you go to school tomorrow, I don't care. I don't want your principal calling me and saying you didn't turn up; they'll put social services onto me again if you're not in school."

   And that made Miriam's blood boil. It wasn't that her mother hated her. It was worse than that. She just didn't give a damn. She didn't _care_. Miriam would have preferred to be hated. At least there'd be some flicker of feeling there instead of her mother's customary indifference.

   Miriam's birth had been an accident – "a mistake weighing six pounds and three ounces", as her mother had once screamed at her in a rare display of emotion. She'd been abandoned twice, and when their social worker reunited them, on both occasions her mother had just shrugged and said "Whatever." And if that wasn't bad enough, her mother was always drinking, which turned her into even more of an unfeeling zombie than she already was.

   Miriam grabbed her backpack and her key, and two minutes later the door slammed behind her.   

*

_I've just intercepted the target's e-mail. She seems interested. You'd better start looking._

_Does she know what she's about to see?_

_No. She's on her way there now. And so are we._

_Watch her close. And the boy too._

_Oh no... _

_What?_

_We've got a problem..._

*

Miriam's mouth opened in shock. She staggered backwards, and nearly fell over the kerb.

   Marty's house was a raging inferno. Flames and smoke poured from every window as the fire consumed the building from within. There were two fire trucks parked outside the house, but the fire department's best efforts had come too late – the house was already nothing more than a burning shell.

   Acrid smoke stung Miriam's eyes as she crossed the street.

   "What happened?" she yelled. "Where's Marty? Did he get out?"

   "Marty?" yelled back one of the firemen.

   "The kid who lives here! He e-mailed me twenty minutes ago asking me to come over. Where is he? Did he get out?"

   The fireman shook his head.

   "We didn't even know there was anyone inside the house!" he yelled. "One of the neighbours called us to report the fire! Hey, guys, the kid says someone's still in there!"

   "He's dead, then!" shouted a colleague over the roar of flames and gushing fire hoses. "The whole place is one big bonfire, every inch of it's gone up! Even if he is still alive, we can't get _near_ the house, let alone inside!"

   Miriam turned away, and found herself staring into the face of a man in his thirties or forties, with receding auburn hair and a grim expression. He wore sunglasses, an earpiece and a nondescript taupe suit, and he looked like some sort of federal agent.

   "Miriam Moorgate?" he said, in a slow, monotonous drawl.

   "Yes. Who are you?" said Miriam. She suddenly felt afraid of him.

   "Black. Agent Black," said the man.

   "Which agency?" asked Miriam.

   He didn't answer.

   "Uh, never mind. What happened here?" said Miriam, changing tack.

   "That's what I was sent here to investigate," said Agent Black. "I expect it was some sort of electrical fire. Surprisingly common."

   He leaned forward, and said quietly:

   "Especially when the inhabitants start looking for the Matrix."

   "What?" gasped Miriam. "What did – how – what's going on? Did _you_ do this?"

   "Take my advice, Miss Moorgate," said Agent Black, ignoring the questions. "Go home. And don't meddle with things that you don't understand."

   He turned away sharply, and walked off. Miriam blinked, and suddenly he was nowhere in sight.

   Miriam was instantly suspicious. What was going on? Who was that man? Did he have something to do with the fire? And what did all of this have to do with the Matrix?

   She didn't know. But she was determined to find out.


	2. Chatroom

2: Ch@troom

Miriam spent most of the next two weeks trawling the Internet, searching for any information on the Matrix. Most of what she found was mathematical stuff – definitions of what a matrix was, and so on. There was virtually nothing relating to _the_ Matrix.

   She tried search engines, websites, chatrooms and forums, all without success. Occasionally she'd find something of potential interest on conspiracy-theory websites, but then it would turn out to be nothing but vague murmurings about some big system that was controlling everything; the usual conspiracy theory stuff. Nothing of use at all.

   Correction – she had once found something about an Oracle, and someone or something called the One, which she'd dutifully bookmarked. But the next time she'd visited the site, a message had come up: 

"The page you are looking for is currently unavailable. The Web site might be experiencing technical difficulties, or you may need to adjust your browser settings."

She'd tried again, and got more messages like "Page Not Found" or "Site Experiencing Overload, Please Try Again Later". It was as if something didn't want her to find the site again.

   But that was crazy, wasn't it? It had to be just coincidence. Although Miriam couldn't help remembering what Agent Black had told her. Don't go looking for it, or something bad will happen. Curiosity killed the cat. It had certainly killed Marty.

   Was that why Marty had died? Because he started looking for the Matrix? Had he found something that Agent Black and his mysterious colleagues didn't want people to see?

   Whatever the Matrix was, it had to be important if Agent Black and the others (presumably there were others) were so desperate to cover it up. If people were dying to find it, then it had to be worth finding.

   It was three-fifteen in the morning, and Miriam was still on her computer, barely awake but still wandering down the information superhighway, hitchhiking from website to website, in search of answers.

   She was on a chatroom now, logged in under the name Guest, and had just brought the conversation round to the Matrix.

_Guest: What do you know about the Matrix?_

_Funky Chicken: The Matrix? LOL_

_TommyGirl: That old chestnut again? Try the conspiracy theory websites, kid._

_[TruthGoddess has entered the chatroom]_

_Wannabee: I can't believe people still talk about that stupid Matrix rumor._

_Rudolf Da Rappin Reindeer: Snoredom. I'm leaving._

_TommyGirl: Me 2._

_[Rudolf Da Rappin Reindeer has left the chatroom]_

_[TommyGirl has left the chatroom]_

_Guest: Does the Matrix exist?_

_Funky Chicken: Don't be stupid. Of course it doesn't._

_BritneyBot2000: U're wasting ur time, Guest. No-1 believes in that junk. _

_CosmikChik: Mr Honeybunny used to._

_Mr Honeybunny: Yeah – when I was 12!_

_BritneyBot2000: How old r u now?_

_Mr Honeybunny: 13._

_Funky Chicken: Doofus._

_Mr Honeybunny: Screw this. I'm outta here._

_[Mr Honeybunny has left the chatroom]_

_Guest: Okay, so what do you know about the rumors?_

_Wannabee: Not much. They say it's some kind of program controlling everything._

_Funky Chicken: As if that could ever happen._

_BritneyBot2000: Sheesh, it'll b the Men In Black next. Or Area 51._

_CosmikChik: I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Night everyone._

_BritneyBot2000: Night CC. See u 2morrow._

_Funky Chicken: Goodnight CosmikChik._

_[CosmikChik has left the chatroom]_

_BritneyBot2000: Sleepy-bye BritneyBot2000. I'm going 2 bed 2._

_Funky Chicken: Didn't know it was so late… me too._

_Wannabee: Me 3._

_[BritneyBot2000 has left the chatroom]_

_[Wannabee has left the chatroom]_

_[Funky Chicken has left the chatroom]_

Miriam yawned, and looked at the status bar. It looked like everyone had gone. No, wait – there was one person left in the chatroom. Someone called TruthGoddess.

_Guest: Hello… anyone? TruthGoddess?_

There was a long pause.

_TruthGoddess: Hello Miriam._

Miriam's mouth dropped open in astonishment. Very slowly, she began to type.

_Guest: Do I know you?_

_TruthGoddess: No. But I know you. We've been watching you for some time._

_Guest: Who are you? Why are you watching me?_

_TruthGoddess: Never mind. What do you know about the Matrix?_

_Guest: Don't ask me. I don't know. I'm just looking for it._

_TruthGoddess: Why?_

Miriam swallowed hard as the thought of Marty popped, unbidden, into her head. Marty, her friend, who was now a small heap of charred bones because he'd gone looking for the Matrix.

_Guest: My friend was looking for it. He found something, but I don't know what._

_TruthGoddess: He found the Matrix. Unfortunately, they got to him before us._

_Guest: He's dead._

_TruthGoddess: I know._

_Guest: Did they kill him?_

_TruthGoddess: Yes. They started the fire and made sure he couldn't escape._

_Guest: Why? What is the Matrix?_

Another pause. Then the reply came.

_TruthGoddess: Everything._

_Guest: Where is it?_

_TruthGoddess: Everywhere._

_Guest: How can I find it?_

_TruthGoddess: Just look around you._

_Guest: All right, very profound. But I want to know what the Matrix is._

_TruthGoddess: Skip school and go to the post office at 11.19 precisely._

_Guest: Why 11.19?_

_TruthGoddess: Go to window 2 and ask for Miriam Moorgate's undelivered letter._

_Guest: Then what?_

_[TruthGoddess has left the chatroom]_

_Guest: Hello?_

No reply. Miriam scowled, and logged out of the chatroom. She'd found some answers, but not the most important one. What was the Matrix? Well, hopefully she'd find out in a few hours. She just hoped that this wasn't some kind of hoax.


	3. The All Seeing Eye

3: The All-Seeing Eye

Miriam didn't go to school the next morning. She pretended to, leaving at the usual time with a cheery wave and a yell of "Bye Mom!". Not that her mother noticed – she was drunk again, as usual, and probably wouldn't have noticed if an alien spaceship landed in the front yard and little green men started dismantling the house.

   Instead of turning left towards her high school, Miriam turned right and headed towards the centre of town. She wasn't worried about being missed at school; before she'd left the house, she'd taken a few precautions.

   People often told Miriam how much she sounded like her mother. Miriam didn't think it was true, and resented the comparison – she _never_ sounded like she'd drunk three-quarters of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Nevertheless, this unwanted talent could sometimes be of use:

   "Hello, Jefferson High School? This is Dana Moorgate. I'm sorry, but Miriam won't be able to come to school today. She's got an appointment at the dentist's at ten, they're doing some pretty major work and they said she'll probably be in a lot of pain later, so they told me I'd better keep her at home the rest of the day. Yes, that's right... yes, I can write a note for her to take in tomorrow, that's fine. No problem. Right. Thanks. Bye."

   And she'd managed to neatly avoid school, with no questions asked. Perfect. For once she was glad that people mistook her for her mother on the phone.

   It was nine-fifteen when Miriam reached town, so she had plenty of time on her hands. She stopped off at a newspaper stand to pick up a copy of The New York Times, then went to Starbucks for breakfast. 

   She hadn't eaten today, because there was no food in the house. Her mother had forgotten to buy more groceries, or so she claimed – Miriam suspected that her mother had just been too drunk or too lazy to go shopping, which was probably far closer to the truth. The only thing her mother was bothered about buying usually came in a bottle with a percentage on it.

   Miriam bought a cup of black coffee and an almond croissant, and read the newspaper. She liked newspapers. They confirmed that yes, there was a big wide world out there, and that someday Miriam would break free from her dull, joyless existence and become part of something bigger, something more important.

   _Someday_, thought Miriam, _I'll be free_.

   She picked up her coffee cup, and took a sip.

   "Shouldn't you be in school, young lady?" said a voice beside her.

   Miriam jumped. Black coffee splashed over her table, her newspaper, the floor, and down the front of the person standing next to her. She looked up; Agent Black was looking down at her with an expression of utter distaste. Coffee stains were spreading on his shirt.

   "I - I'm sorry," stammered Miriam, mortified. "I didn't mean to – oh, gosh, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

   "No."

   "Oh. That's - that's good," said Miriam feebly. What was it about this man that made her so nervous? It wasn't just the possible link to Marty's death – there was something about Agent Black himself that unnerved her to the core.

   "What are you doing here, Miss Moorgate?" said Agent Black.

   "Well, I'm just having breakfast," explained Miriam.

   "So I see. But what are you doing here _now_? You should be in school," said Agent Black.

   "I've got a dental appointment," said Miriam automatically. With a flash of inspiration, she added: "Check with the school if you don't believe me. They'll tell you that my mother called them this morning to let them know."

   "What time is your appointment?" Agent Black asked her.

   "Ten," said Miriam.

   "It's nine fifty-five, Miss Moorgate," said Agent Black.

   "My goodness, is that the time? I'd better get going. Thank you," said Miriam hurriedly, draining her coffee cup and picking up her newspaper. "And, uh, sorry about your shirt."

   Agent Black shrugged.

   "Well, bye then," Miriam babbled, and ran out into the street, not stopping to look behind her.

   She ran, and ran, and ran, until she was out of breath and out of sight. Miriam looked nervously around her. Agent Black was nowhere to be seen. Relief overcame her. She'd escaped. From what – Agent Black, or a dark fate, or quite possibly both – she wasn't sure.

*

At exactly eleven fifteen, Miriam entered the post office, a smart red-brick building with a clock above the door.

   It was quiet inside. The special kind of quiet you got in places like libraries; an atmosphere of intense concentration tempered with the subdued noises of paper-related activity.

   There was a short queue at window two, which Miriam joined, increasing the number of people waiting patiently in the line to three.

   The number went back down to two again as the first customer, a middle-aged man in jeans and a polo shirt, went away with a book of stamps in his hand. The next customer, an old woman in a pink dress, was served.

   She placed a large parcel on the counter and asked if it could be sent first-class to an old friend in Minnesota. Miriam paid no attention to the rest of the transaction.

   It was eleven eighteen. Nearly time…

   The old woman eventually went away, satisfied that her parcel was now on its way to its destination.

   Eleven nineteen precisely. Her turn now.

   "Hi," said Miriam, as the young postal worker looked up. "Any undelivered mail for Miriam Moorgate?"

   "Just a minute – yes, there's this," he said, and handed Miriam a letter. "Anything else I can do for you?"

   "Uh, no. No, thanks," said Miriam, taking the letter.

   "Okay then. Have a nice day."

   "You too. Bye."

   Miriam waited until she was outside before she looked at the letter. Strange - it was addressed simply to:

Miriam Moorgate

She opened the envelope, and took out a piece of paper. She unfolded it carefully. It read:

_Follow the All-Seeing Eye._

That was it. No name or anything. No clue as to who had sent her the mysterious message, although the equally mysterious person known as TruthGoddess obviously had something to do with it.

   Follow the All-Seeing Eye? What on earth was that supposed to mean? How could she follow instructions if she didn't understand what she was meant to do?

   Miriam heard a giggle behind her. She turned round, but there was no-one there. Frowning, she turned back and was about to go down the steps when something fluttered to the ground in front of her.

   It was a dollar bill. Never one to turn up her nose at money, Miriam bent down and was just about to pick it up when it suddenly moved a few inches away.

   She crawled forwards. Now that she had a closer look, she could see that the dollar bill was attached to a length of fishing line. Somebody was playing the old "dollar bill on a line" trick, pulling it away just as she was about to take it.

   Miriam gave a snort of contempt, and started to get up. But then something caught her eye – on the dollar bill was a picture of a pyramid with an eye on it, something she'd seen so many times on dollar bills that she barely even noticed it any more.

   "The All-Seeing Eye…" she said to herself.

   The dollar bill was jerked away again before her fingers could close on it. It landed again, about five or six feet away. Miriam hurried after it. It moved again, but this time the bill didn't come to rest on the sidewalk; instead it away down the street as an unseen hand pulled in the line.

   Miriam ran after the dollar bill, trying not to lose sight of the flimsy bit of paper amid all the feet of passing pedestrians.

   "Sorry… excuse me, sir… sorry, coming through… excuse me," she panted as she pushed her way past.

   Eventually, when Miriam was on the point of abandoning the chase, the dollar bill fell to the ground, right in front of a pair of small patent leather shoes. 

   Miriam's gaze travelled upwards, and met the calm eyes of a little blonde-haired girl, no more than six years old.

   "She who seeks Truth will find the Eye in an age long since past," said the girl.

   "What?" said Miriam, startled.

   The little girl rolled her eyes.

   "Over _there_, stupid," she said rudely, and pointed to a museum across the street.

   "Thanks," said Miriam, feeling very stupid indeed for not solving the clue on her own. She crossed the street and went into the museum.

   Miriam looked around her, and realised that she had no idea where to go next. The museum was vast, and contained several exhibitions dealing with "an age long since past" – Ancient Greece, Ancient China, the Roman Empire, the Stone Age, the Iron Age, and those were only some of them. She could spend all day looking and still not find this Eye thing. All _week_, even.

   One of Marty's favourite sayings had been "Asking saves a lot of guesswork". It hadn't been one of Miriam's. She preferred finding things out on her own. But it looked as though she didn't have much choice.

   She went over to the information desk.

   "Um, excuse me?" said Miriam. 

   "Hi there," said the woman at the desk. "How can I help you?"

   "Well," said Miriam, inventing wildly, "I'm, uh, I'm doing a – a treasure hunt, and I'm looking for something but I don't know where to find it. The clue said it's an eye of some sort."

   "An eye?" said the woman thoughtfully. "Hmm. Tricky one. I know - why don't you try the Egyptian Exhibition? Those kooky Ancient Egyptians were really into eye symbols and scarabs and stuff like that. It's upstairs on the left. Just follow the signs."

   "Thank you," said Miriam gratefully, and rushed off towards the stairs.

   "Good luck with the treasure hunt! I hope you find what you're looking for," the woman called after her.

*

Miriam wandered through the rooms containing the Egyptian Exhibition, looking and looking again for anything that might possibly be the Eye. So far, nothing.

   And then she saw it, in a glass case on one side of the room. An eye symbol made from gold and lapis lazuli, similar to the ones she'd once seen in a book about Ancient Egypt.

   She looked down at the caption.

   "The Eye of Horus," she read. "Also known as the _wedjat_, the Eye of Horus was a powerful symbol of protection, and was often used in funerary rites and tomb decoration – this was meant to protect the dead person from evil and aid their rebirth in the underworld. One of the most common amulets of Ancient Egypt, the Eye of Horus was used not only to protect the wearer, but also to bestow them with wisdom and prosperity."

   There was more, mostly about Horus: "The son of Osiris (god of the underworld) and Isis (the mother goddess), Horus was one of the most important gods in the Egyptian pantheon. He was usually depicted as either a falcon or falcon-headed man."

   Hmm. Interesting. But if there was a point to all this, then she couldn't see it.

   Miriam was suddenly aware of someone standing directly behind her.

   "You've found my Eye," said a low voice in her ear. "Now find me."

   She whirled around, but there was no-one there. The only other people in the room were a group of tourists standing next to a case in the centre of the room, listening to a tour guide.

   A Japanese couple with cameras strung around their necks. A woman in a blue dress. A bored-looking teenage girl. A small boy, picking his nose. A quintet of nuns. A young man in black. A teacher shushing a group of excitable second-graders into silence. And an elderly man with a cane, peering short-sightedly at the artefact in the case. 

   None of them looked like the person she was searching for.

   On the other hand, Miriam had no idea who she was searching for, or what they looked like. For all she knew it could be the woman in blue, or the old man. Maybe the teenage girl. Possibly even one of the nuns. She just didn't know.

   "Moving on…" said the tour guide, and the tourists drifted after her. 

   Suddenly the man in black dropped to his hands and knees.

   "Darn - lost a contact lens," he said loudly.

   "We help you look?" said the Japanese couple together.

   "No, no, that's okay. I'll catch you guys up later…"

   They nodded, and followed the rest of the group into the next room. Soon the room was empty, apart from Miriam and the man searching on the floor.

   Miriam went over to the man. He was young, in his early twenties, with blond hair tied in a ponytail. He wore black from head to toe – black boots, black jeans, a black shirt and a long black coat – and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark glasses. Aside from his dress sense, the most notable thing about him was the earring dangling from his left ear; it appeared to be a tooth of some sort.

   "Looking for something?" said Miriam.

   "I know you are," he replied, without looking up.

   "I'm looking for Truth," said Miriam.

   "Yes. And something else, too. You're looking for the Matrix."

   "What about your contact lens?" said Miriam, as the man straightened up.

   "There is no contact lens," he said enigmatically.

   "There isn't?" said Miriam.

   "No. I don't wear them. I have perfect eyesight. That's why they call me the Falcon. Eagle-Eye. The All-Seeing One. Do you know who I am, Miriam Moorgate?"

   "No, but I'm guessing you're not TruthGoddess," said Miriam. She was getting sick of all these riddles.

   The man grinned.

   "You're right. I'm not."

   "And you obviously know who I am," she continued, the note of irritation starting to show in her voice. "But what I'd like to know is _how_ you know who I am. Whoever you are, please, stop screwing me around and tell me straight. What's going on? Who are you? Who is TruthGoddess? Why did you send me on this – this wild goose-chase? And just what the hell is the Matrix anyway?"

   "Calm down," he said. "I can only answer one question at a time."

   "_Who are you_?" said Miriam, exasperated.

   "My name is Horus," he said.

   "That's not your real name," said Miriam accusingly.

   "It's as real a name as any other I've had in my lifetime," said Horus.

   "Why are you here?"

   "I was sent here."

   "By whom?"

   "The one you call TruthGoddess."

   "Why?"

   "To find you. And to show you the truth."

   "About the Matrix?"

   "Yes."

   "What is the Matrix?"

   "You'll find out soon enough."

   "What about TruthGoddess? Will I meet her?"

   "Yes."

   "When?"

   "Very soon."

   "Who is she?"

   "Ask her that yourself when you see her."

   "Are you going to give me any straight answers?"

   "Maybe."

   "Why are you people so goddamn mysterious all the time?"

   "Because we have to be. There are spies everywhere. They're watching us even as we speak."

   "Who's watching us?"

   There was a noise. Horus glanced up, and swore.

   "Oh, shit!"

   "What's wrong?" said Miriam.

   She turned around, and let out an involuntary shriek as she saw Agent Black and two identically dressed – no, two _identical_ colleagues – heading towards them.

   "Miss Moorgate? I must say that I'm very disappointed," said Agent Black. "I expected better of you."

   "Get out of here," hissed Horus.

   "What about you?" said Miriam anxiously.

   "I'll be fine," he told her. "Go on, get out of here. I'll take care of these three."

   "But - "

   "Go!"

   Miriam hesitated for a second, then ran. She didn't stop running until she was three whole blocks away from the museum. She leaned against a phone box to catch her breath…

   Someone grabbed her from behind. Before Miriam could even open her mouth to scream, she found herself being bundled into a plain black car by Agent Black's colleagues.

   "There is no escaping us, Miss Moorgate," said the driver calmly.

   It was Agent Black. Agent Black had got her. And Miriam knew right then and there that she was in serious trouble.


	4. Last Chance

4: Last Chance

   "Where am I?" said Miriam. "What is this place?"

   She had to admit that it wasn't a terribly original line. But it was a perfectly valid question. She'd never been anywhere like this before.

   She was sitting in a room that was completely white – not milk-white, or chalk-white, but pure, blinding white from floor to ceiling. She couldn't tell how big the room was, where the floor ended and the walls began, or where the walls stopped and the ceiling started, or even where the door was. As soon as the white door had closed behind her, it had become invisible.

   The table was completely transparent, made out of some sort of glass or clear plastic, and the chair that Miriam was sitting on looked so flimsy that she had been afraid of breaking it as she sat down.

   Why was it so bright in here? There were no windows and there was no visible light source, and yet the room was so bright that it hurt Miriam's eyes. It just didn't make sense.

   The agents provided the only real colour in the room. The three men sat in front of her, on the other side of the table, staring at her from behind their sunglasses. They looked out of place in the glaring whiteness, standing out far more than they should, and in the bright white room with no perceptible boundaries, it almost looked as if they were floating.

   "You don't need to know where you are," said Agent Black. "But you need to know why you are here."

   "Why?"

   "You did not have a dental appointment. You skipped school in order to collect something. Something from window two of the Barclay Street Post Office. A piece of undelivered mail, addressed simply to Miriam Moorgate. You received certain… instructions. When you followed them, you were told to go to the museum. To the Egyptian Exhibition. When you got there, you met someone."

   "I know all this. Why are you telling me what I already know?" said Miriam.

   "We are merely establishing the facts, Miss Moorgate," said Agent Black. "And since you yourself said that you were looking for truth, here is the truth. The truth is that the… individual that you met is dangerous."

   "To me or to you?" Miriam retorted.

   Agent Black's expression didn't change.

   "To everyone, Miss Moorgate. To everyone and everything that you hold dear. The individual known as Horus is a wanted criminal who has already kidnapped several people. People like yourself, Miss Moorgate. We wouldn't want you to end up on the back of a milk carton now, would we?"

   "Wouldn't you?" said Miriam. 

   "No. We are here for your protection. And so we are giving you one last chance. We advise you not to meet with him again. We also advise that you do not continue in your search for the Matrix."

   "Or what? You'll kill me? Like you killed Marty?"

   "Ah, yes, Martin Coombes. Known as Marty to his friends. And Digit to the FBI."

   "Excuse me?" said Miriam sharply. "The _FBI_?"

   "Indeed. Were you aware, Miss Moorgate, that your friend Marty was a computer hacker wanted by the Federal Bureau of Investigation for breaking into the computer networks of several government agencies and for the theft of files vital to national security?"

   "_What_?" exclaimed Miriam."Marty? A _computer hacker_? No way. That's not possible! He was the most law-abiding kid I've ever met! He never so much as breathed on anything that didn't belong to him! He would never have - "

   "You are mistaken, Miss Moorgate," said Agent Black. "As were we. At first we did not believe that a sixteen-year old boy could be responsible for so much damage. However, he was a threat. He was a hacker, Miss Moorgate, a very competent hacker who went by many aliases, of which the most common was Digit. It took us some time to track him down."

   "And then you killed him," said Miriam. "Hacker or no hacker, you're not allowed to do that."

   "Again you are mistaken. We can do anything we want, Miss Moorgate. And if our paths cross one more time, then you _will_ share your friend's fate."

   "Is that a threat?"

   "No, Miss Moorgate. That is a promise."


	5. Taken

5: Taken

Miriam woke with a start. Her first thought was: _Why am I in bed?_

   The last thing she remembered was being in that weird white room and talking to Agent Black and his two anonymous colleagues, and then – nothing. Her mind was a complete blank.

   She looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was 9.37 a.m. How long had she been asleep?

   "Mom!" she yelled.

   Her mother entered the room, which surprised Miriam. Normally her mother was so drunk she was barely able to stand, but now she was completely sober. She couldn't remember ever seeing her mother completely sober.

   "So you're awake?" said her mother. "About time too. You've been asleep since yesterday afternoon."

   "Why didn't you wake me up?" said Miriam. "I should be in school now!"

   "I called the school, told them you were sick."

   "Oh."

   "Miriam, I'm worried about you," said her mother suddenly.

   "Well that's a first," said Miriam sarcastically.

   "You spend all your time on your computer, you've barely eaten or slept in two weeks, you're staying up all night, and you're obsessed with doing – well, whatever you're doing! And then some men in suits bring you home unconscious in the middle of the school day, saying you collapsed in downtown. Why weren't you in school?"

   "I had a migraine and went home early," said Miriam, feeling a little ashamed at how easily the lie came. "I was going to the pharmacy to buy some aspirin on my way back, because we don't have any, and then I felt faint, and – and I don't remember anything after that."

   "Why didn't you call home?"

   "No point. You're usually too drunk to answer the phone anyway."

   Her mother scowled.

   "Miriam, you're going to get me into trouble with social services if you don't cut this out. Now just stop spending your existence messing around with that computer junk and – oh, I don't know, go to the mall or the movies or something, like normal kids do."

   "Is that all you care about? Getting in trouble? What about _me_, Mom? Do you even _care_ about me? Or am I just something you're stuck with, some sort of _inconvenience_? That's all I am to you, isn't it? An inconvenience. A big mistake!" yelled Miriam.

   "Miriam - "

   "_You hate me_!" screamed Miriam. "Don't try and pretend you don't, because you do! I know you do! You don't care! You don't care about anything except getting drunk or staying out of trouble with the social workers! I hate you!"

   "I can't take this," said her mother, burying her head in her hands. "I need a drink."

   She turned her back on Miriam and went downstairs.

   "Yeah. Go on. Crawl back into the bottle," said Miriam savagely. "Just like you always do when things get too tough for you! You're pathetic!"

*

She regretted it later. There had been no need for shouting. But it always happened like that. Every conversation she had with her mother always ended up with at least one of them screaming abuse at the other.

   Miriam sighed, flicked over from the search engine she'd been using to search for the Matrix ("no matches found") and scanned through the inbox of her e-mail account. She almost cried when she noticed that Marty's last ever e-mail message was still sitting there in her inbox. 

   No more e-mail from Marty. There never would be. Another reason why she had to find out more about the Matrix.

   Almost as soon as the thought entered her brain, the "You've Got Mail!" message popped up. Miriam clicked the OK button, and saw the new e-mail message; she didn't recognise the address.

   Miriam quickly virus-scanned the message. Ever since her run-in with the agents, her paranoia had increased. She couldn't be too careful. Who knows what they might do to her system, or even to _her_, if Agent Black and his companions suspected she might be disregarding their "advice"?

   _No viruses found_.

   That was all right, then. She opened the message.

_You're leaving footprints. Tread lightly and watch your back._

_Falcon and TruthGoddess_

Falcon – that must be Horus. But she still didn't know who TruthGoddess was. It was infuriating, not knowing. She hated the helpless feeling of not knowing things. Knowledge was indeed power, and right now Miriam didn't feel powerful at all. She felt ignorant and feeble-minded, like a small child. There was so much that she didn't understand…

   "Footprints?" said Miriam to herself. "What do they mean, footprints?"

   There was a knock at the door. Miriam heard the click of the front door opening, and a murmur of voices downstairs.

   "Miriam?" her mother called.

   "Yeah?"

   "Get down here right now!"

   Miriam turned off her computer and went downstairs. She was halfway downstairs when she saw who was standing at the front door. She stopped dead.

   "Oh, _no_," she gasped.

   Agents. Three of them. And one of them was the ever-present Agent Black.

   "Mrs Moorgate, we're from Social Services," said one of the agents. 

   "We're here to talk to you about your daughter," said the other.

   "Why? What's she done?" said her mother suspiciously. 

   She turned to Miriam.

   "What've you done now?" she snapped.

   "Nothing!" said Miriam.

   "I _told_ you, didn't I?" her mother bellowed. "I told you you'd get me in trouble with social services! Now look what you've done!"

   "I haven't done anything!" Miriam protested.

   "She was warned, Mrs Moorgate."

   "Repeatedly."

   "And yet she persisted."

   "Now she must be taken."

   "Taken where?" said Miriam's mother. "What's going on?"

   "Mrs Moorgate, several weeks ago the students in your daughter's class took part in a psychiatric evaluation test," said Agent Black. "The results have come back. We're sorry to inform you that your daughter has a severe case of obsessive-compulsive disorder and also appears to be suffering from delusions. She needs immediate psychiatric treatment at a secure medical institution."

   "No! No, Mom, don't listen to them! They're lying! I don't have obsessive-compulsive disorder! I'm not crazy! And they're not from Social Services! Mom, they're after me! They know I know too much, and they're going to kill me! Don't let them take me away, please!" begged Miriam.

   "Not crazy."

   "That's what they all say."

   "But they are."

   "They all are."

   "_I'm not_!" wailed Miriam, grabbing her mother's sleeve. "Please, Mom, I'm not crazy! I swear I'm not! Don't let them take me! You can't let them take me!"

   Her mother ignored her.

   "Treatment? What sort of treatment?" she asked the agents.

   "Special treatment," said Agent Black.

   "Is this going to cost me money?" she said, scowling.

   "Not a penny, Mrs Moorgate."

   "This is in the public interest."

   "For the common good."

   "For your daughter's own safety."

   "Safety?" Miriam shrieked. "They're going to _kill_ me, Mom!"

   "Don't be so stupid, Miriam," said her mother shortly. "So what do I have to do about this?"

   "Not a thing."

   "We'll handle everything."

   "Even the paperwork?" said Miriam's mother.

   "Especially the paperwork."

   "All you have to do is sign here."

   "On the dotted line."

   One of the agents produced an official-looking document and a pen, and held them out to Miriam's mother.

   "Mom, no! Don't! Don't sign it!" Miriam pleaded.

   "It's for her own good, Mrs Moorgate," said Agent Black.

   Very slowly, her mother nodded. She took the pen and signed the form. Miriam watched in horror as the document was passed back to the agents. Agent Black took the piece of paper, folded it neatly, and put it in his pocket.

   "Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs Moorgate," he told her. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of your daughter."

   "No! No! Mom! Please, Mom! I'm sorry I yelled at you! Please! Don't let them take me!" shrieked Miriam, as the other two agents stepped forward. They grabbed her by the arms before she could even think about dodging them, and although she fought and kicked and struggled to get away, their grip was just too strong to break.

   "I'm sorry, Miriam," said her mother. "But these men say you need help."

   "_Mom_!" Miriam howled.

   "Good day, Mrs Moorgate," said Agent Black, with a curt nod. He turned and walked down the path towards a waiting car. His colleagues followed him, dragging Miriam along behind them, still kicking and screaming.

   For the second time in two days, Miriam was thrown roughly into the back of an unmarked black car. It was much worse the second time around. Last time, she had no idea what was going to happen to her. This time, she _knew_ she was going to die.

*

_They've got her._

_I know._

_We need her._

_I know._

_And they've got her._

_Yes._

_So what are you two going to do about it?_

_We're going to get her back…_


	6. Treatment

6: Treatment

But to Miriam's surprise, the agents didn't kill her. Instead they took her exactly where they told her mother they were taking her – to a secure medical institution for people who needed psychiatric treatment. In other words, a mental hospital.

   _I'm never getting out of here_, she thought miserably.

   It was just like that film she'd seen once. How could you prove to someone that you were completely sane? Miriam suspected that saying "Actually, I _am_ sane," just wasn't going to cut it. So easy to say you were sane – so hard to prove it. There were lots of people in the world who appeared perfectly sane but turned out to be raving loonies. And the doctors here were probably used to the patients insisting that they weren't crazy, really, it was the evil chair-people who persuaded them to set fire to their neighbours' mailboxes.

   No matter what she told the doctors, they weren't going to believe her. After all, what could she say?

   "Doctor, I'm not crazy. The men in suits came and took me away because I went looking for the Matrix. My friend Marty went looking for the Matrix and they didn't like it, so they killed him and burned his house down. And then they came after me because I knew too much. What? Oh, the Matrix? Yeah, it's this giant computer program which secretly controls everything."

   Yeah, right. The doctors would smile and nod understandingly and think "Crazy as a loon". There was no point in even trying. She might as well just give up and resign herself to a life of hospital food and medication which she didn't need and a padded cell to sleep in.

   Actually, the room wasn't too bad. The walls were padded, yes, but there was a bed and a toilet and washbasin, and a desk to sit at, and a little window she could look out of. And straitjackets did not appear to be involved.

   Not too bad, all things considered. The hospital staff seemed pleasant enough, if a little condescending, and they were letting her out for meals and things. It could have been a lot worse, all things considered.

   Right now Miriam was sitting in the canteen, in between a guy who kept twitching and muttering to himself about "the cutlery demons that were laughing at him behind his back", and another guy who looked perfectly normal to her.

   Whoever first built the hospital had clearly tried to make this a nice room; it was decorated in pale greens and blues and there were skylights in the ceiling to let in the sunshine, but then some nameless management drone had furnished the canteen with lots of institution-style tables and benches, all plastic and stainless steel, undoing the architect's best efforts to make the canteen look like something other than a place where the insane went to eat.

   It smelled of hospital food and strong disinfectant, and Miriam found it deeply depressing. She sighed.

   "They got to you too, huh?" the normal-looking guy said conversationally.

   "Yeah," said Miriam.

   "It's all a big conspiracy. They're out to get us."

   "Tell it like it is, brother," said Miriam. "What did they get you for?"

   "I found out about the United Nations' evil plans to turn everything pink and fluffy and make us all wear leopardskin hot pants and listen to Rod Stewart all day. What about you?"

   "Oh, I went looking for the secret computer program that controls the whole world and then the men in suits came and took me away," said Miriam. "They don't want anyone to find the Matrix, you see. They come after everyone who looks for it."

   "Bad luck," said the man sympathetically. "It wasn't the men in suits who got me, though. My brother came downstairs and caught me trying to burn a big pile of Rod Stewart records. He didn't believe me when I told him about the Satanic messages that you can hear when you play "Tonight's The Night" backwards, and he had me committed."

   "You don't like Rod Stewart records, huh?"

   "They're _evil_. We must burn them all! Burn them all!"

   "Absolutely," said Miriam, nodding vigorously and thinking _Yup. I was right. Even the ones who look normal are totally off the planet_. "And Michael Jackson is the new Messiah, right?"

   "What, are you crazy or something?" said the man, frowning.

   "Sorry."

   "Everyone knows that only Cher can save us from the forces of darkness."

   "Right," said Miriam slowly. "Excuse me a minute, I'm just going to get a glass of water. I'll be right back."

   "Watch out for the invisible mind-control pills," the man called. "They like to slip them into your drink when you're not looking!"

   "I will," Miriam promised.

   She hurried away, just as the man started humming "Believe" to himself, and went to fetch a glass of water.

   Standing next to the neat queue of patients was a young nurse with dark, soulful eyes and a pale face framed by perfect black ringlets.

   "Hello, Miriam," she said, as Miriam joined the queue. And that was strange, thought Miriam. All the other nurses called her "Miss Moorgate". No-one on the staff had _ever_ called her by her first name.

   "Who are you?" said Miriam. 

   "My name's Alethia. I'm into Greek mythology and chatrooms. You make the connection."

   "Chatrooms? _You're _TruthGoddess?"

   "Sssh! Keep it down!" whispered Alethia. "Yes, I'm TruthGoddess. I'm from the Resistance. I'm here to get you out."

   "Where's Horus?"

   "Horus is here too, he's disguised as a male nurse. He's standing over by the door, but _don't _look at him. Now what I want you to do is kick up a fuss so that Horus and I have an excuse to drag you away and take you back to your room."

   "How do you mean, kick up a fuss?"

   "Like that guy over there who was raving about Rod Stewart. Yell and shout and rant about whatever comes into your head; just act like you need to be led away quietly and given a heavy dose of animal tranquillisers."

   Miriam nodded. Suddenly she pointed at Alethia and yelled:

   "You're one of THEM, aren't you?"

   People turned to look at her in surprise.

   "Good," whispered Alethia.

   "Yes! I knew it! You're one of them! The purple aliens from outer space who're trying to take over the world with radioactive television sets!" Miriam bellowed, thinking furiously of crazy things to say. "I know all about you! You and your plot to control the nation through our addiction to talk shows! I know what you're up to, you – you – you fiendish three-headed Martian! You cancelled _Sesame Street_ and put on repeats of _Barney the Dinosaur_ instead! You're poisoning our children's minds!"

   "Keep going," murmured Alethia. "Just a few more seconds…"

   "Yeah! Yeah, don't deny it! You're an alien! You're all aliens! You're the ones who kidnapped Elvis Presley! You were jealous of his talent and wanted him for yourselves!" Miriam shouted.

   A male nurse – Horus, she thought dimly - grabbed her by the arm, and Alethia took her by the other arm.

   "Time to go," said Alethia under her breath.

   "Elvis lives!" Miriam exclaimed, pretending to try and break free.

   "There, there," said Horus. "We know the King is still alive. He's alive in our hearts, Miss Moorgate. Come on, it's time for your medication."

   "No! Evil mind-control drugs! No!"

   "That's it!" called the man who hated Rod Stewart records. "Fight the power!"

   As a finishing touch, Miriam shouted the all-time favourite saying of crazy people everywhere, just as Horus and Alethia led her out of the room:

   "I'M NOT CRAZY! I SWEAR!"

   The doors closed behind them.

   "A masterly performance, Miriam," said Alethia

   "Worthy of an Oscar, I think," agreed Horus.

   "Thank you – thank you," said Miriam, beaming with pride. "I'd like to thank the Academy…"

   They turned the corner and went back towards the patients' rooms.

   "So what happens now?" said Miriam.

   "You make a choice," said Horus.

   "Got any advice for me?"

   "Choose right."

   "Helpful."

   "I aim to please."

   "This is my room, right here," said Miriam. "You've got a key, right?"

   Horus instantly produced a key, and opened the door.

   "I'll take that as a yes," said Miriam, and they led her inside.

   "Before we do anything else, Miriam, there's something we have to check," said Horus. "Take off your shirt."

   "Excuse me?" said Miriam sharply.

   "Horus, you win more flies with honey than with vinegar," Alethia scolded him. "Sorry, Miriam. We just need to take a look at your stomach, that's all."

   "Why?"

   "Do you remember what happened after the agents picked you up? After they finished talking to you? How did you get home? Can you remember?"

   "I – no. No, I don't. All I remember is Agent Black saying "That is a promise," and after that it's a blank. I woke up in bed the next morning."

   "Hmm. Do you think she's bugged?" said Alethia to Horus.

   "Could be. We'd better check."

   "Check what? What do you mean, _bugged_?" said Miriam.

   "The agents often plant a bug inside people they've just warned away from the Matrix, so they can trace their every movement and come after them if necessary," Alethia told her. "We need to make sure that they haven't done this to you. If they have, we have to get it out."

   "Get it out?" said Miriam nervously. 

   "It's all right, Miriam," said Alethia. "We're not going to open you up or anything. You won't feel a thing, I promise. Now just lie down, and let me take a look at you. Can you do that for me?"

   Miriam nodded. "Okay."

   She lay down on the bed and let Alethia pull her shirt up until her stomach was exposed.

   "You see, the bug enters via the navel and lodges in the abdomen for up to a year," Alethia explained. "If the suspect doesn't do anything to arouse suspicion during that period of time, the bug deactivates and leaves the system."

   "And if they do something to arouse suspicion?" said Miriam.

   Alethia drew her finger across her throat in a cutting motion.

   "Oh."

   "Well, more like "boom", actually," put in Horus. "The bug is fitted with an explosive device. If you're onto something and the agents can't get to you in time to stop you from finding out the truth, they detonate it."

   Miriam grimaced. "Ugh."

   "Yeah, it's not pretty," said Horus. "I've seen it happen. But not often. Usually the agents just pick you up, and then they either kill you or lock you up in a place like this."

   "Okay, enough talk," said Alethia. "Horus, lock the door and call Telex. Ask for the stuff and somewhere to plug in."

   The door lock clicked. Horus whipped out a cellphone and pressed a button.

   "Tel, it's me," he said to whoever was on the line. "Yeah, we got her… that's right. Right here. And we need a secure connection. Yeah, yeah, okay. We'll make it fast."

   He hung up. A second later, a black suitcase appeared from nowhere and landed on the bed with a soft thud.

   "Where did _that_ come from?" said Miriam, amazed.

   Alethia said nothing. She opened up the suitcase and took out a small device made mostly out of chrome; it looked a bit like one of the ray-guns from an old sci-fi B-movie that Miriam had seen once. It had a glass test-tube attached to one side, and a little LCD screen on the other, as if whoever was firing the ray-gun wanted to watch television while they blasted away at aliens.

   "Thank God for Meg and Gig," said Alethia. "Smaller _and_ lighter. I could barely lift the last one. I almost dropped it right on top of the poor kid."

   "Just get on with it, Leth," said Horus impatiently. "Tel says that our patient here might be expecting company."

   "And it's not even visiting time, either," said Alethia. "Okay, Miriam, just relax and hold still. This won't hurt a bit."

   "Actually, it's agonising," said Horus brightly.

   "It is _not_," said Alethia. "Don't scare the poor kid."

   As Miriam watched warily, still trying to work out which one she ought to believe on the pain issue, Alethia pointed the ray-gun at her stomach, right above her navel, and pressed a button. There was a humming sound for a while, and then everything went quiet.

   "Anything?" Horus asked.

   "No."

   Horus looked surprised.

   "No bugs?"

   "No. She's clean. Take a look for yourself."

   Horus looked at the little screen, and shook his head slowly.

   "Well I'll be. First time they haven't bugged someone in a _long_ time."

   "I know. Right, get the equipment set up."

   Horus rummaged in the suitcase and took out handfuls of wires and electrical components. He began assembling something that – well, Miriam had no idea what it was or what it did, but whatever it was, it was made from what looked like the Jefferson High School science department's entire collection of electrical equipment. It was a jumble of wires, crocodile clips, complex circuits, components and something that appeared to be a telephone – albeit a telephone that had just been run over by a truck.

   Horus finished by linking up the bizarre apparatus to a plasma-screen monitor, which he lifted carefully out of the suitcase and placed on the floor, and then he plugged everything into a socket which Miriam could have sworn hadn't there before. The phone was hooked up too – how? There was no phone line in this room… but then there hadn't been a socket, either…

   The whole thing was done in minutes.

   "Finished," said Horus, starting up the device and dusting off his hands. "We're up and running and ready to go."

   "Okay, Miriam," said Alethia gently. "Now I'm going to have to ask you to make a choice."

   Miriam glanced out of the window, and almost yelled out loud. A plain black car was parked outside the hospital.

   "I think you'd better choose fast," said Horus. "They're coming."

   Alethia took a small silver case out of the breast pocket of her nurse's uniform. She opened it, and emptied the contents into her hands. She opened her hands – in one was a blue capsule, and in the other was a red one.

   "You can either take the red pill or the blue pill," said Alethia. "If you take the red pill, you'll come with us, and you'll find out exactly what the Matrix is. Or you can take the blue pill and wake up back in bed, with everything back the way it used to be."

   "Or alternatively, you can spend so long deciding that the agents turn up, burst in here and kill us all," said Horus, sounding faintly worried.

   "Take your time, Miriam. This isn't a decision to be taken lightly."

   "I'm not _asking_ her to take it lightly, I'm _asking_ her to make it _fast_!"

   She'd come this far. There was no turning back now. If she took the blue pill, everything would be back to normal. No agents, no mental hospital. And still no answers. She'd never know what the Matrix was, and she'd always wonder what would have happened if she'd chosen differently. So slowly and deliberately, Miriam took the red pill from the palm of Alethia's hand.

   "Are you sure, Miriam?" said Alethia. "Once you take that pill, you can never go home again."

   "I don't want to," said Miriam. "My mother gave me to the agents. She signed me over, like a – like a package. I want out. Or in. Whatever. I'm going with you."

   "Good choice," said Horus. "Now swallow it quickly, there's a plastic cup of water on your nightstand."

   And there was.  

   "That _wasn't_ here this morning."

   "Neither was I. _Tempus fugit_, kid. Now take the damn pill before the agents get here!"

   Miriam put the red pill in her mouth, and swallowed it, along with a mouthful of water from the cup on her nightstand.

   Once again Horus' cellphone came out.

   "Hey, Tel? Run a trace program, she took the red pill," he said into the phone. "Get a mirror in here too. Hurry, they're on their way. No, there's no time for that! Just do it!"

   And suddenly there was a full-length mirror in the room, mounted to the wall.

   "How – what - ?" gasped Miriam. "How did you _do_ that?"

   "No time, Miriam. Just touch the mirror," said Alethia.

   Miriam reached out. Very hesitantly, she touched the mirror. The glass rippled like water beneath her fingers, and then it gave way; her hand plunged into what felt like ice-cold water.

   With a yelp, Miriam pulled her hand back out. There were small, gleaming silver droplets of mirror on her hand, like mercury. As she watched in astonishment, the mirror-drops spread, covering her fingertips, then her fingers, then her whole hand.

   She gasped. It was so cold; it was like having her hand encased in a block of ice. Against all expectations, the liquid mirror seemed to get colder. It travelled slowly up her arm, past her wrist, past her elbow. Miriam was shivering furiously, trying not to scream. It was so cold that it hurt.

   "What's happening to me?" she wailed.

   "It's all right, Miriam. Everything's going to be all right," said Alethia. "I know this is scary, it scared me too when it happened to me. Just stay calm, or you'll give yourself a heart attack. That's happened before now, with some of the older potentials."

   "Yeah, the _Nebuchadnezzar_ picked up some guy called Neo last week," said Horus. "Almost went into arrest before they freed him."

   "How old was he?" said Alethia.

   "In his thirties, I think. Way older than usual."

   "In his _thirties_? But that's dangerous! What was Morpheus thinking?"

   "He was thinking that he'd found the One," said Horus. "He believes in the Oracle's prophecy."

   "Doesn't everyone?"

   "Yeah. Pretty much. I know I do. Not much else to believe in these days."

   The mirror had swallowed up Miriam's whole arm now. It was silver from fingertip to shoulderblade, and still creeping inexorably up towards her neck. Miriam was starting to panic. She didn't want that stuff on her _face_!

   "Miriam, calm down," Alethia urged her. "You're all right."

   "_No I'm not_!"

   "You are," said Alethia.

   "Really," added Horus. "I'd hold your hand or something, but you've got that silver goop on it."

   Miriam wanted to laugh, but she was too scared.

   "Where the hell is that trace program?" Horus barked into his cellphone. "We need it, Tel, we need it _now_! What? You've got it? Well, about time too!"

   The cold silver had crept up to Miriam's chin now. She took a deep breath, and screamed…


	7. Awakening

7: Awakening

Miriam opened her eyes. She was lying in a tank filled with a pink glutinous matter. Her clothes had gone, and there were thick black cables attached to her body. Arms, legs, hands, feet, body, and even the back of her head.

   Where was she?

   There was a mask over her mouth. Presumably it had been providing her with oxygen while she was floating in the tank. But then the air stopped coming.

   Panicking, struggling to breathe, Miriam tore off the mask. She surfaced, gasping for air, and looked around her.

   _I've died,_ she thought instantly. _I'm in Hell_.

   She was sitting in this tank in some sort of hellish industrial complex, all dark metal and whirring fans. The skies above her were dark, clouds boiling across the sky, their progress punctuated by flashes of forked lightning and deep booming rumbles of thunder.

   There were more tanks on either side of her. Each one contained a human being, naked and bald-headed and with those cables attached to their bodies. Lying in the tanks of pink slime like corpses in glass coffins.

   She looked down, and saw more tanks. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Tens and hundreds of thousands. Maybe even millions. The rows seemed to go on forever. And there were these _things_ climbing over some of them, metallic creatures – robots?

   "Where am I?" Miriam whispered. "Oh, God, where am I?"

*

_Where is she?_

_I'm looking_ _for her._

_Hurry up, then. The Matrix has rejected her. They'll unplug her soon. If we don't get there first…_

_I know! I know! Now shut up and let me concentrate!_

_We've narrowed down the search area. She's somewhere in Field 12B505._

_There are over twelve thousand pods in that field._

_I'm aware of that._

_Which one is she in? Have the trace results come through?_

_Right here. Row… oh, top row. Row 1, Column 10110._

_They've sent the robot out to unplug her._

_Get into position. You know what to do._

*

Miriam felt the top of her head. Bald. All her hair had gone. Her beautiful long black hair, her pride and joy, one of the few things she'd liked about her appearance.

   A thought occurred to her, and she gingerly felt the back of her head. Her fingers touched on something cold and hard and smooth; a cable. Plugged directly into her brain.

   "I should have taken the blue pill," she whispered. "Everything back to normal."

But she'd made her choice. She was stuck here now, come what may. Where were Horus and Alethia? They said that she'd come with them, but where were they? Were they lying in tanks too?

   "Alethia! Horus!" Miriam yelled. "Are you there? _Where are you_?"

   Something landed in front of her. But it wasn't Alethia or Horus. It was a giant robot, the size of a man, gleaming blackly in the night. It had dozens of electronic "eyes" and metallic tentacles, each one with a buzzing, whirring instrument attached to it.

   Terrified, Miriam backed away until she bumped against the edge of the tank.

   "No… no, please," she gasped.

   A pair of metal pincers shot out of the robot, and clamped shut around her head in a vice-like grip. There was a sound like a dentist's drill; the robot was unscrewing the cable in the back of her head. 

   When the cable dropped out, the robot abruptly released Miriam from its clutches and allowed her to flop back into the tank.

   Miriam breathed out, relieved. But her ordeal wasn't over. The other cables began pulling themselves out, yanked out by an invisible force, and then a drain in the bottom of the tank opened up. The pink fluid drained away, and Miriam found herself being sucked out with it. 

   She flailed helplessly, trying to purchase a handhold on the smooth glass walls of the tank and stop herself from falling, but it was useless. With a howl, Miriam plunged into the drain and fell for what felt like an eternity until at last she landed with a splash in a deep pool of greyish water.

   She couldn't swim. She'd never been able to swim; somehow she just couldn't manage to stay afloat. For a few seconds Miriam fought to keep her head above water, but then she gave up the struggle and let herself go under.

   The last thing she was aware of was the sloshing sound of the water, then air, and being lifted towards a bright light…

_"Got her."_

*

Miriam opened her eyes yet again. She still didn't know where she was. 

   It hurt to blink. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to do _anything_. So that ruled out Heaven, anyway. And she wasn't in enough pain to be in Hell; she just ached all over, as if she'd run a marathon the day before. 

   Miriam closed her eyes, hoping that this would bring her a small measure of relief. It didn't. Her eyes still hurt, just like the rest of her.

   "Where am I?" she asked, a little hoarsely.

   "You're in the real world," said a familiar voice. Horus.

   "_Jesus_, Horus, will you get out of here?" said a woman impatiently. "The poor girl isn't wearing anything! If you want naked women, go look at one of the anatomy books! Now get out and stay out!"

   "My God, Hecate, you think that's why I'm here? To get an eyeful?" said Horus, sounding insulted. "My mother taught me better than that."

   "Your mother wasn't even your mother, Horus. You just _thought_ she was," said the woman called Hecate. "You were grown, remember? Just like everyone else on this ship. So if you're not here to gawp, why _are_ you here?"

   "I thought she might like to see a friendly face."

   "Hah! Lousiest excuse I ever heard. Get out, you pervert. If you want to do something useful, go and tell Mac that, like in all the best Westerns, we got the girl in the end. Tell Ebisu he can go and get some rest; he's been up all night. And tell him to go fetch Alethia in here!"

   "Yes, sir."

   "Fuck you."

   "I'd rather not."

   "Who would you rather, then? Alethia, I expect."

   "Fuck _you_!"

   "No thanks. I'm married. Well, go on, lover-boy, what are you waiting for? Go tell Ebisu to fetch your darling Alethia."

   "Goddammit, Hecate, will you just shut up? You know she doesn't want me."

   "Bullshit. Of course she does. She's just too professional to admit it."

   "Stop rubbing it in."

   "I'm a doctor. We do rub things in. Like ointment. Now piss off."

   There was a metallic-sounding slam, then a loud crash and a faint tinkling from somewhere near the floor. By the sound of it, Horus had just slammed the door so hard that it had come off its hinges.

   "You broke the _door_, Horus!" Hecate yelled after him.

   Miriam didn't catch his reply.

   "And that's _Doctor_ Vicious Cow, thank you very much!" Hecate yelled back.

   Miriam started to laugh, and then clutched her chest.

   "Ow, it _hurts_," she groaned. "Why?"

   "Because you've never laughed, or moved, or blinked or breathed. You've spent your entire life dreaming away in that pod, not doing anything," Hecate told her.

   "My whole _life_?" said Miriam. "You mean – my mom, and school, and going to Starbucks and everything, all that was a dream? My whole life just wasn't real?"

   "You're quick on the uptake, kid. It takes some people weeks to get their head round the concept, and look at you – you haven't been awake five minutes and you get the idea already."

   "What was that tank I was sleeping in? And those cables, and that robot? Where am I? I keep asking and everyone's ignoring me!" said Miriam anxiously. "And what's all this stuff about the Matrix? Please, tell me what's happened to me!"

   "I think maybe you should wait for Alethia to tell you. She's better at explaining things. Right now I'm more concerned with getting you fixed up. Your muscles have atrophied, so we'll have to fix that. We'll get you something to eat, too. You really don't want to know what the machines were feeding you while you were floating around in that pod."

   "I don't?"

   "No. It'll make you sick to your stomach. Not that you've ever eaten anything to be sick with. Not here in the real world, anyway."

   The door opened, and Miriam heard footsteps.

   "Miriam?" Alethia said. "Are you awake?"

   "Yeah…" Miriam said weakly.

   "Good," said Alethia. "And Hecate, I want you to stop picking on Horus. You know he's shut himself in his quarters again?"

   "Not again," groaned Hecate. "He's like a big kid! Anyone would think he was two, not twenty-two."

   "What did you say to him? Tell me you weren't teasing him."

   "I laughed about him and his big crush on you. And I called him a pervert."

   "You didn't," said Alethia, sounding dismayed.

   "I did too," said Hecate firmly.

   "Oh, Hecate, _why_? You _know_ how sensitive he is," Alethia sighed.

   "Don't blame me. It's his fault for coming down here to stare," said Hecate.

   "Look, he asked me if he could go down and check on Miriam, and I told him he could," said Alethia. "He was worried about her. She was so scared, Hecate, he just wanted to make sure she was okay. I know he acts all tough and he's always making jokes out of things, but he cares a lot about people. He just wants to help. I wish you'd stop being so mean to him."

   "Sounds like you're pretty sweet on him yourself," said Hecate.

   "Hecate, grow _up_, will you?" said Alethia, with a sigh of exasperation.

   "I will if you tell him to," said Hecate.

   "Just cut it out. We don't have time for stupid bickering. Come on, we've got work to do. Miriam needs patching up," said Alethia.

   "Yeah, yeah," said Hecate. "Hey, kid, you can open your eyes now."

   "They hurt," Miriam complained.

   "They'll adjust pretty quickly. Try and keep them open as much as possible. The more you use them, the more you'll get used to using them, and it won't hurt so much."

   "Okay," said Miriam, and opened her eyes. She was lying on a table in the middle of what looked like an operating theatre. Standing by her side were Alethia and the other woman, Hecate, who had shoulder-length brown hair, a long nose and a sharp expression. Both women were dressed in ragged, threadbare clothes and work boots that had probably seen better days.

   "Sorry to have to make you go back to sleep when you've only just woken up, Miriam, but we have to put you under so we can work on repairing your muscles," said Alethia apologetically. "They've wasted away to practically nothing because of your lack of physical activity. It'll take most of the day to fix them."

   "That's all right. It's not like I've got to go to school or anything."

   "True," said Alethia. "Hecate, fetch the anaesthetic please."

   And before long, Miriam was asleep again.


	8. Observation

8: Observation

Alethia stood in the doorway of Miriam's quarters, silently watching the sleeping girl. Miriam should have been awake hours ago, but here she was, still stretched out on the thin mattress and fast asleep.

   She pitied Miriam. The girl was about to find out the truth, and she definitely wasn't going to like what she'd find. When she'd got over the shock, she'd then have to cope with life in the real world. Hard work in spartan surroundings, always cold and always hungry, always wearing the same rags and being forced to share living space with the same handful of people whether you liked them or not. It was no picnic. And that was before she even started training.

   Waking up was hard. Forcing yourself to _stay_ awake, to go through the same old routine day after day, was even harder. A lot of people couldn't handle it. They put themselves back to sleep, permanently. Most of them were the newly freed, people who simply couldn't cope with the harsh reality that they suddenly found themselves in, but occasionally you got one or two old-timers who simply got tired of everything and decided to end it all.

   Like the old captain. Forseti had spent all his life searching for the lost souls of the "real world" - the miserable, the despairing, the aimless, the rebellious, and the discontented. The Resistance targeted these minds because they were the easiest to free. Happy people didn't go looking for anything else because they were content with what they believed they had; unhappy people were more receptive to the idea that there might be something else beyond their own perceptions, because they wanted to believe it. They could be persuaded that yes, there was an alternative to their life, if they were prepared to go and find it.

   Captain Forseti had freed Alethia, and countless others. He'd saved her when she was very young, and he'd raised her and the others as though they were his own children. Over the years she'd come to think of him as a father. 

   And then, one day, he grew tired. That was when they'd found him in his quarters, hanging from the ceiling.

   Two years. She still cried sometimes.

   Alethia felt a hand on her shoulder.

   "It's late. You should get some sleep."

   "I don't want to leave her alone. She'll be awake soon."

   "You said that four hours ago. You could be saying it again in four hours' time."

   "I know. But just in case, I'll stay here. She'll probably want someone to be with her."

   "Okay. Don't stay up too late."

   "I won't."

   "No, I mean it. You've been working all day, Alethia, you need to rest. Look, I'll come by in an hour and check up. If she's not awake by then, too bad for her. She'll just have to wait until morning."

   "All right, Hecate. Goodnight."

   "Yeah, goodnight. Sleep tight, and watch out for the bed-bugs. They give you a pretty nasty rash if they bite. Trust me, I'm a doctor. We know these things."

   "_Goodnight_, Hecate."

   "'Night."

   Alethia watched her go, and then turned her attention to the slumbering Miriam.

*

Horus sat in his quarters, staring angrily at the wall. He was angry about a lot of things, but the thing that angered him most was the Matrix. 

   The machines had forced humans to live like this, always hiding away underground and dodging robots, wearing rags and shivering with cold and having nothing to eat except flavourless goop. 

   They'd been enslaved once. Now they were free – if you called this free - but still they fought on for the freedom of mankind. There were billions of people still trapped in those pods. Most of them would never get out. Most of them probably wouldn't want to. But there were some minds who wanted to be freed… it was their job to find them and let them out.

   It was a long and difficult task. You couldn't simply yank them out of the Matrix, it would kill them instantly. You had to bring them out gently, first waking up the minds and then fooling the machines into thinking the body had died so that they would release the person from the pod and throw them out. You had to catch them quickly, or they'd go to the recycling plant and –

   He didn't want to think about it. What the machines did to the dead was obscene. It made him sick just thinking about it. The first time he'd been told about it, he _had_ been sick. Aged fifteen, just freed and still shaking with terror. Even now he'd wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, remembering the horror of the truth.

   Truth. Where was Alethia, anyway? She'd been down in the operating theatre all day, working away alongside Hecate to bring their new recruit to full health and fitness. She hadn't had breakfast, or lunch, and she hadn't turned up for the evening meal. Was she asleep now? It was late at night, if there still was such a thing as night. The sky was always dark.

   Perhaps he ought to go and see if she needed anything. Food, company, some relief from the work. She was probably tired, she could do with a break, and he was good at fine-tuning muscles. He could probably finish everything off himself. Except that Hecate would probably lay him out if he dared venture down there.

   Stupid. Why on earth would he go down just to stare? What was the _point_? All he'd wanted to do was help. He remembered the look on Miriam's face; he had worn exactly the same expression of fear once, when the shimmering silver had crept up his arm and swallowed him whole. 

   He wanted to go downstairs and reassure the girl that everything was going to be okay. Cushion the blow of learning the full and terrible truth. He wished someone had done that for him.

   This wasn't his first ship. He'd originally served on the Prometheus, under Captain Hathor. A cold, harsh woman. Dead now, of course. The machines had destroyed the Prometheus six months ago. Fortunately for him, he'd been in Zion at the time, recovering from a severe bout of pneumonia in the city's hospital. So he'd been transferred to the Columbus. And he'd met Alethia.

   Alethia was beautiful, and yet she always looked so solemn and sad. It was difficult to coax a smile out of her. But when she smiled, it was worth the effort. Her smiles lit up the whole world. If only he could make her happy… he liked the thought of one of those rare, bright smiles being saved just for him.

   Horus stood up. He opened the door of his quarters, and peered around cautiously. No-one around to say, "Oh, finished sulking then?". Good. If there was one thing he hated, it was being accused of going off to sulk. He couldn't help it if he wanted to be alone when people picked on him.

   He stepped out into the gloom of the corridor, and made his way towards the hospital wing, passing the doors to each crewmember's quarters. Captain Mac, Ebisu, Telex, Alethia - Hecate. He gave _that_ door a good kick, and hoped the sound had woken her up.

   And then there was a new one – Miriam's quarters. That door was open; its occupant was asleep inside, and outside, leaning against the doorframe with her eyes closed, was Alethia.

   "Alethia?" said Horus. "You all right?"

   Alethia stirred, and opened her eyes.

   "Oh," she said, yawning. "Sorry. Must have drifted off."

   "You finished working on her?"

   "Yeah, all done."

   "Looks like a pretty good job to me. Why don't you get some rest? You look like you need it."

   "No, I want to stay with her until she wakes up."

   "You're in for a long wait, then. She doesn't look like she wants to wake up any time soon. Go to bed, Leth. Get some sleep. You'll be good for nothing in the morning otherwise."

   "I don't want to leave her alone."

   "I'll stay with her if you want."

   "Hecate wouldn't like that."

   "Screw her. Someone needs to stay with Miriam, and it's not going to be you. Look at you, you're exhausted. You haven't eaten all day, you haven't stopped working - you're practically on your knees. Go and sleep. I'll keep an eye on her."

   "Maybe I should get someone else…"

   "Oh, don't tell me you're buying into Hecate's bullshit too. You don't seriously believe that I'd ever - " 

   "No, no, no! Of course I don't. Hecate's just being stupid and pig-headed. I know you just want to help. But I don't think it's a good idea. People will talk."

   "Yeah, I know. Is anyone else awake?"

   "Only the night-timers up on the bridge."

   "I'll go get Monitor. She's free. No-one's uploading at this time of night."

   "Okay."

   "You'll go to sleep, right?"

   "Right. You'll let me know if she wakes up, won't you?"

   "No, I won't. She can damn well wait until the morning. If she's restless, Monitor can show her round the ship or something, shake the fidgets out of her, and she can have an early breakfast. You're not on call twenty-four seven."

   "But…"

   "No buts. You need your beauty sleep. It'd be a shame to have dark circles round those pretty brown eyes of yours."

   "Shameless flatterer," said Alethia, but she smiled, and Horus felt his spirits lift. He'd made her smile…

   "Okay, I'm going," she said. "Goodnight, Horus."

   "Goodnight. Sleep well."

   "You too. See you in the morning."


End file.
